


yours and mine (one and the same)

by stevenstamkos



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 World Juniors, Getting Together, M/M, New Year's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 10:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13269237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevenstamkos/pseuds/stevenstamkos
Summary: Kale Meets Cale On Canada's Healthiest D PairBUFFALO, NY — Kale Clague grabs the microphone and volunteers to ask his Team Canada defense partner, Cale Makar, a couple questions.“What’s it like being named after me?”“I mean, it’s pretty special,” Makar says with a smile.





	yours and mine (one and the same)

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a cute [Kale Clague and Cale Makar interview](https://www.tsn.ca/canada-s-kale-and-cale-spark-chemistry-on-off-ice-1.952218). They started the tournament as a defense pairing for Canada but then got shuffled around a bit ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Implied Brett Howden/Brayden Point, though Brayden doesn't make an appearance
> 
> Title from "I'd Love to Change Your Name" by Kenny Chesney

“I'm not calling you Cale,” Kale says, just to like, establish some ground rules and make things clear from the get go. Good team communication, be on the same page with everyone, recipe for success, etcetera, etcetera. Kale has got this down to a T.

Makar looks amused as hell. “Really? What are you gonna call me then?”

Kale thinks. There’s no obvious nickname, nothing that jumps out as perfect for him. And _actually_ calling him Makar is out of the book. Teammates need nicknames for each other.

It’s imperfect, but tried and true method always works.

“Could go with _Mah_ -ker,” Kale says after a moment. “Like...Makar, _Mah_ -ker.”

Makar frowns. “That sounds weird. Never been called that before.”

“No shit? You’ve never had any of your teammates come up with Mah-ker?”

“Other people just call me Cale,” Makar says.

“Yeah no,” Kale says. “I’m gonna feel like I’m talking to myself. Kinda weirds me out a little bit.”

They fall silent for a moment, sizing each other up, Kale having to tilt his head up a bit to meet Makar’s eyes.

“Yeah, think I’m gonna stick with it,” he says.

 

 

They both make the final cut for the team, which isn’t a huge surprise with Kale being a returning player and Makar being the best defenseman in the 2017 draft. And they have good chemistry in team practices, fast on pucks and mobile and able to read each other’s plays.

They end up as D-partners going into the pre-tourney. Of course there are a fuckton of jokes about it, both from the team and from the media.

_Kale and Cale. The lettuce boys. Canada’s healthiest D pairing. Practically an entire salad._

“You could’ve had Bean,” Raddy points out. Raddy has no room to talk, being a fucking _radish_ and therefore another one of the veggie boys, but at least he’s a forward and there are no other vegetable forwards to pair him with.

There’s nothing wrong with having Jake Bean as a partner, Kale admits. Good buddy from the Dub, good guy to have on the team during last year’s tournament. It’s nice to be paired with Makar though. And besides, “Beaner is a lefty like me,” he points out. “Mah-ker is a righty.” And knowing Ducharme, they’re gonna go nuts trying to balance out the defensemen so everyone plays in position.

“Could’ve been Bean and Cale with a C then,” Raddy says. “Either way we end up with a salad pairing some way or another.”

So there they have it. Kale meets Cale, veggie boys extraordinaire. It would be cute if it weren’t confusing as fuck.

 

“Cale!” Mikey calls, stick tapping on the ice and open, and he’s calling for a long stretch pass, skating backwards into the offensive zone.

In the split second after he hears his name, Kale isn’t sure what Clouder is expecting. Like, Makar is retrieving and Kale is further up the ice, ready to carry the puck out of their zone, and he thinks for a wild half-second that Makar is calling to _him_ to get ready.

And then the puck is flying up to Mikey on a beautiful saucer right on the tape, and the play goes on, Mikey driving the play up the ice.

There’s no broken play, no miscommunication. It’s only practice, and they’re only just getting used to each other. No one ever clicks right away when a new team gets together, so mistakes are to be expected. It’s just a split-second mistake. Kale shakes his head and keeps skating.

 

 

“Couple of us are watching a movie in Cale’s room tonight,” Dante is telling Hartsy in the elevator down to dinner.

“My room’s not available, actually,” Kale says. He knows they mean Makar, but.

Dante rolls his eyes and slaps him on the ass, which is practically an invitation.

So Kale shows up at Makar’s room that night, and Makar answers the door wearing just his underwear and a backwards snapback, which is like the biggest fucking mood. They're black Canada-themed boxer briefs, very patriotic. Also very tight.

What? Kale notices when someone has a tight ass. It’s hard _not_ to notice growing up in locker rooms and I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.

Makar makes room on his bed, and Kale takes a moment to eye up Drizzy Batherson and Max Comtois huddled together on the other bed with Fabbs and Hartsy, like penguins in the cold. He chooses the spot next to Makar.

Everyone ends up watching two episodes of _The Bachelor_ , since the new season is starting in a few days, and Makar keeps up a running commentary the whole time. He’s a pretty funny dude, in the dry kind of way. And surprisingly romantic based on his _Bachelor_ opinions. Kale likes him. Always good to know you can trust your D-partner’s instincts and taste in ridiculous date activities.

“You two think Amber is gonna get a rose from Link after this date?” Footer asks from the floor.

It’s Dubes who answers first, head in Footer’s lap while Footer pets his hair. “Yeah, she’s hot as hell. I’d be all up on her like—” He makes a gesture with his hand, and then looks up and meets Footer’s eyes. “I mean, that’s just cause she’s kinda hot. She’s not like one of the bros and you know I love my bros more than anything,” he adds awkwardly.

Kale has no idea where this is going, since Dubes seems to be having a whole other conversation with Footer, intense eye contact and all. Footer just keeps petting Dubes’s hair, but he’s smiling now.

“So, um, yeah. She’s getting a rose,” Dubes says.

Which is just like, so _wrong_? Kale sighs. “Hey, no Dubes. Amber’s always trash talking the other girls behind their backs. I think Link call tell she’s not sincere. Like she’s a huge bitch to Penny.”

Makar takes his side, nodding along. “Yeah, Claguer’s right. Link is gonna go for a nice girl like Tracy. End of the line for Amber.”

“Eliminate her ass,” Kale says. “Time to send her home.”

Makar lowers his head and laughs, right in Kale’s ear. He’s really a very alright dude. Has a nice laugh.

Dubes looks at them from his comfortable spot in Footer’s lap. “Okay Kale,” he says, and Kale doesn’t know who he’s talking to, Kale or Cale, because it sounds the same. It doesn’t matter either way; he and Cale Makar are always on the same page.

 

 

Both on the ice and off, Kale is still getting a little disoriented when he hears someone calling his name only to find out that they were looking for Makar. It’s not like Makar is the first Cale he’s met; he knows Cale Fleury too, but Fleury plays for Kootenay and no one’s ever called him Cale in front of Kale.

And he doesn’t run into the name problem with Cal on the team—Everyone just calls him Footer. It’s only _Cale_.

God, there’s just too much confusion. There’s gotta be another way.

 

“I mean, I think Mah-ker would work. Like you know, Makar, _Mah_ -ker. Instead of Cale. We should call him that.”

“Claguer, stop trying to make ‘Mah-ker’ happen. It’s not gonna happen.”

“Did you just fucking quote _Mean Girls_ at me?”

Howdy is instantly on his toes. “I have cousins! Girl cousins. Little ones. And anyway, you recognized where it was from!”

“Everyone knows _Mean Girls_ , Howdy.” Jake says, looking tired. “Pointer—Brayden, I mean, not Colton—told us you guys watched it together in Moose Jaw a few times. And cuddled.”

“Brayden told _who_?!”

“Us. Well, he told Barzy when they played together in ‘15, you know, when Pointer was captaining the team, and then Barzy told us all last year. Honestly, I’m surprised you hadn’t heard by now.”

“Why were you even talking about—” Howdy sputters a little, obviously outraged that Mat Barzal is out there wilding about, telling everyone left and right about Brett and Brayden and the frankly tame shit they get up to when they’re alone together. But like, it’s really fucking old news. Kale was there when Barzy opened his big fat mouth last year in Toronto, and even _then_ he’d thought it was old news. Half the Dub fucking knows, god, Howdy.

And besides, Kale wants to get back to the Mah-ker thing.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells a shell-shocked Howdy, patting him on the shoulder. “But _anyways_ , we still haven’t decided what to call Makar so we stop mixing him up with me.”

“I thought we were just gonna call him Cale,” Footer says thoughtfully.

“ _I’m_ Kale,” Kale says.

“You’re Claguer,” Footer tells him.

“He can’t be Cale though. He doesn’t even spell it right!”

“Yeah, he got Dub-named,” Raddy says in his deep, slow voice. “Took a Dub name and Dub-named it even more.”

Which is totally rude, in Kale’s opinion, even though he was just saying the same thing—It’s just different when he says it. Look, Kale, Cale, whatever, both are a whole lot better than _Taylor_. Have some originality, Taylor Raddysh.

And anyway, Makar was AJHL.

“He never played in the Dub though,” Footer says. Kale is glad that Cal Foote is as cool-headed and sensible as they come. (Except when it comes to Dillon Dubé at least, because then Cal Foote is a soft idiot, but Dubes isn't in the room right now.)

“He got Western Canada-named,” Raddy says, impatient.

“We’re not calling him Mah-ker,” Howdy breaks in. “That’s a stupid name.”

“Yeah, I kinda have to go with Howdy on this one,” Footer says. “It doesn’t really roll off the tongue, not like Claguer or Cale. _Mah_ -ker...Yeah I don’t really like it. But we should ask Dils. Team captain and all, he gets final say in everything.”

Oh of course Footer would want to ask _Dubes_. And guess whose side Dubes is gonna take?

Dubes decides that Mah-ker is a dumb fucking name, and that the name discourse is a dumb fucking thing. He’s got other things to worry about, like whether _Hey Baby_ should be their goal song for the rest of the tourney. It’s been a pretty big debate for a few days now.

Outvoted, Kale quietly gives up. So fine, maybe it won’t be an official nickname, but that’s not gonna stop _Kale_ from using it.

 

 

It’s always been easy for Kale to put on a show in front of the cameras. He's a naturally gifted dude. He's done it plenty already during the pre-tournament games, challenging Jake to a table tennis match and making a huge joke out of it with his own cheer squad and dramatic lighting and commentary. Cale had been one of Kale’s cheerleaders, which just proves that he has his priorities straight.

Cameras rolling, Kale brings the mic to his lips. “What’s it like being named after me?”

Laughter.

“I mean uh, it’s pretty special,” Cale says, which is nicer than Kale was expecting.

“Why do you use a C? You know, the proper way is to actually use the K, but...you know, explain that.”

“Yeah I mean, I just didn’t want to be named after the lettuce. I think my parents just figured that I’d be a little bit different from everybody else, and stand out a little bit more.”

Cale is barely holding back a laugh now, cheeks pink and lips pressed together to keep his cool. Kale has to bite his lip to keep in character.

“Nice to have healthy D this year,” the guy behind the camera jokes.

“Oh yeah, we have good chemistry,” Kale explains to the camera. “We just click, like on the ice and off. He’s a great player.”

“Yeah, Claguer is great. We have a special connection,” Cale says, nodding all earnest and shit.

“It’s probably the name thing.”

“Definitely the name thing.”

 

 

Blocked shot against Finland in the first prelim. Kale goes down.

He needs help getting off the ice since he can’t put any pressure on his foot, but the x-rays show that there’s no fracture at least. Probably just needs some ice and some rest and he’s good to go. Shitty luck though.

Ducharme decides to sit him out against the Slovaks so he doesn’t fuck his foot up further, and there’s some shuffling around the roster as they move Cale over to the left hand side and pair him with Dante. It blows for Cale, going from the top pair to the third pair.

Blows for Kale too, in the press box. Obviously.

It’s okay. Ducharme says he’ll be in the next game against the Americans.

That means that Cale is gonna end up bounced to the bottom as the seventh defenseman, since Kale is gonna be playing with Dante now. Obviously Cale is upset, just not showing it.

If he’s being honest, Kale feels weirdly upset too about not playing with him.

(Like obviously they’re gonna trust their coach and do what’s best for the team, aiming for gold, etcetera, but. Kale is a little bit upset.)

 

 

They find the greatest typo in the history of the world on twitter, when Kale is scrolling around looking at his indirects. He knows he’s not supposed to do it, because who cares what people are saying about him? He’s here to have fun and not worry about people on twitter shit talking him. He’s still reading everything though. They’re facing the Americans tomorrow for the first time since the gold medal game last year, and he’s jittery about it—half excitement, half nervousness—and he needs a distraction.

Even if the distraction is reading up on random Leafs fan’s hot take regarding his work ethic.

And then he scrolls and sees it, a tweet about him and his defense partner: Kale Clague and _Cake Makar_.

Kale almost drops his phone.

“ _Cake_ ,” he says breathlessly, barely able to breathe through his laughter. “Holy shit.”

“That’s not the first time someone’s called me that,” Cale points out from next to him, looking over his shoulder. “The K’s next to the L on the keyboard. They got my last name right, which is pretty good. Usually autocorrect fucks that up too.”

“What do they—”

“Maker,” Cale says before he can finish, already guessing his question.

Kale wheezes. “ _Cake Maker_ ,” he mouths, doubled over, and he feels light-headed with how hilarious this is. “You’re a goddamn baker, Mah-ker. You’re a fucking cake maker.”

“I hate autocorrect,” Cale says, and there’s a smile on his face and murder in his eyes. God, Cale is so full of shit. Kale thinks he’s a riot.

He thinks about getting Cale one of those plastic easy bake ovens for kids, which would’ve been an amazing Christmas gift, even if he’s a few days late. But he has no idea where to get one of those in Buffalo, which is like a frozen wasteland of misery, so he marks that on his to-do list when he gets back to Brandon or wherever the fuck he's going next.

It wouldn’t work as a birthday gift, sadly. Cale is an October baby. Kale looked it up.

 

 _movie in my room tonight_ , Cale texts him that night.

 _ok cake maker_ , Kale texts back.

Cale sends him a few cry-laughing emojis, and then a cake emoji.

During the movie, he slings an arm around Kale’s shoulder and they rest there like that, backs against the headboard on Cale’s bed and Raddy and Clouder practically laying on top of their feet. They watch _Happy Gilmore_ , and Cale quotes along with Adam Sandler sometimes. It’s a nice way to spend the night, to not think about the game tomorrow.

Oh, and Cale’s not wearing a shirt again, since like it’s his room and all, which is fair. It’s not like Kale spends half the movie thinking about it.

 

Okay to be honest, two weeks after meeting at selection camp, Kale can admit that he really likes Cale. Dude reminds him a lot of Nolan, but like, less high strung. Even though there was that time in June when everyone thought the Devils might pick Cale first overall, and his name was everywhere the night before the draft. Nolan promised Kale very seriously that Cale Makar had not been very chill then.

They’ve been spending a lot of time in each other’s company since the pre-tournament, and not just when they’re practicing together. Kale believes in good chemistry off the ice too.

Like, good D leads to good O, you know?

Cale Makar is good at hockey and good at being a fun teammate and good at being a bro. He’s just good at a lot of things that make Kale wanna spend more time with him.

 

 

It doesn’t take long against the Americans. They’re on the PP just a few minutes in, and Cale’s shot from the point beats Oettinger five-hole, giving them a 1-0 lead.

“Nice one Mah-ker,” Drizzy says as their power play unit returns to the bench.

Kale hears this over the wind as he slides over, making room for them, and he has to bite back a feeling of stupid possessiveness. It’s not like he can own a _name_ , right? He just spent an entire two weeks trying to get everyone to call Cale ‘Mah-ker,’ and now Drizzy’s doing just that, so Kale has like, zero reason to be all pissy about it.

He is though, he kind of feels like decking Drizzy a little, and he feels dumb as shit for it. But feelings, you know?

And it’s not like he’s really _unhappy_. Sure, Drizzy just called Cale _his_ nickname, the one that Kale came up with for him, the one that’s kind of like…Kale’s. Like, it’s special. And there’s also a literal snowstorm falling on them and covering the ice so it’s a bitch to skate out there.

But he’s not really unhappy. It’s the World Juniors, and they’re playing the Americans. They’re _beating_ the Americans.

Everything is going very fine, actually. No bad emotions at all, nope.

Kale doesn’t have time to listen to anyone else praise Cale, because he’s going over the boards with Dante to start his next shift.

After the game, when they’re all in the locker room brushing snow off themselves and stinging from losing in the shootout _again_ , Kale is too cold and miserable to think about it much.

 

“You okay?” Cale asks quietly, on the bus back to the hotel.

Kale is still so fucking cold, what the fuck. He’s wearing his suit and coat and the heater’s on full blast and the snow is safely outside where it can’t touch him, but the cold has seeped into his goddamn bones or something, from hours on the ice with the snow falling on him and the sweat cooling and freezing during every stoppage of play.

Next to him, Cale looks pretty put together, barely shivering at all. Only his cheeks are more flushed than normal, very obvious against the rest of his pale face. He’s bouncing his leg like crazy, which keeps drawing Kale’s attention to his thighs.

“What?” Kale says.

“I mean, I was wondering if you were okay. Since...you know. The shootout against the Americans and…”

It’s obvious that Cale is trying to be not weird about this, even though Canada’s revenge is a sensitive fucking topic. Kale is touched, anyway.

“You mean that we lost to them again and it feels like _that_ game again, right?”

Cale’s face gets redder. “Well, I wasn’t there last year, I was just watching on my TV at home. But you were on that team and…” He clears his throat, awkward. “I just wanted to know if you were okay?”

“Are you asking if I’m getting war flashbacks?”

“I guess?”

Aww, that’s sweet. Really, Kale is super touched. “Feels pretty bad, Mah-ker,” he says honestly. It’s just a prelim today, but. He clenches his hands, which are shaking a little at the memory of the adrenaline, holding his breath on the bench, every muscle in his body clenched tight and thinking of gold as he watched Nicolas Roy make his way down the ice and—

_“Roy walks in...dekes...Parsons makes the stop! And the United States has won the gold medal in Montreal! World Junior Champions with a win in the shootout!”_

He shivers, which can be played off as just the cold.

It really does feel like a flashback, the blown two-goal lead, the time ticking down in OT with their missed chances off the goal post, the brick wall in the American net that they don’t score a single shootout goal on, whether it’s Parsons or Oettinger. It’s basically like reliving one of Kale’s worst moments of the year. Except colder, and he has a runny nose this time and snow in his eyes.

Cale’s hand is only a little warmer than his, but Kale notices it immediately when it wraps around his tightly clenched fist.

“You wanna watch a movie tonight in my room?” Cale asks. His face is sweet and like, hopeful, wide eyes and color in his cheeks, and the memory of silver fades to the back of Kale’s mind.

They’ve watched approximately seven movies in Cale’s room, which is like, a lot of movies for a tourney that only lasts a couple of weeks. But they can always put _Die Hard_ on in the spirit of Christmas (or that weird post-Christmas time anyway) and then cuddle, which is good shit and always makes people feel better. Kale is excellent at cuddling.

“Sure thing, Mah-ker,” he says. He smiles.

They keep their hands together, tucked into the space between their seats and hidden from view by their legs. Halfway back to the hotel, Kale stops shaking and unclenches his fist, letting Cale’s fingers slip between his, warm and holding tight.

 

 

Cale scores again against Denmark, another power play goal, and they roll to an 8-0 win with a shutout for Hartsy, almost— _almost_ undefeated. They’re first in their group, 3-0-1-0 record, 10 points.

Last year, they were second in the group behind the Americans, before going to the gold medal game and losing again to the Americans, in the fucking shootout. The _shootout_ last year.

This isn’t last year though.

 

 

They have to stay in for New Year’s Eve, which is just—

“What the fuck,” Steelsy says. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“They’re afraid we’re gonna get like, super fucked up and lose against Switzerland,” Mikey says. “And then the Swiss coach would probably die from surprise.” He sighs a little. “At least last year we could buy shit. Legally I mean, in Toronto.”

The look of horror on Drizzy’s face is actually kind of funny, as he remembers that America’s drinking age is 21.

Kale takes pity on him. “Relax bud, Raddy’s had a pretty good fake for years. He has to survive in Erie _somehow_.”

“Uh, I have a better one, remember?” Dante says, holding up his fake BU ID.

So Dante and Raddy go out into the blizzard to buy stuff for their little Team Canada New Year’s not-party, and they come back with shit tons of cheap beer and vodka and rum, even though they were pretty sure that the person behind the counter totally knew that they were giving him fakes when he asked for ID.

“It was probably pretty obvious that we’re here for World Juniors, but the dude didn’t give a shit,” Raddy says. “Cheers.”

 

Kale is making himself a jagerbomb with some truly shitty off-brand beer since they’re out of Red Bull. It’s like 11:50 pm, and he’s keeping an eye on the clock when he feels someone move behind him. It’s probably someone who wants access to the jagermeister. He shuffles over a bit, making room at the table.

It’s Cale. He’s all bright-eyed and red-looking, empty beer in his hand, and he’s not making a move for the jagermeister.

“What’s up, Mah-ker,” Kale says. It’s still a pretty fun name to say.

“Just coming to...get something,” Cale says.

“You ready to kick some 2018 ass? Got your New Year’s resolutions all ready?”

Cale nods. “Yeah, I do.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot for a moment and then suddenly grabs a can of Kale’s shitty off-brand beer, pops the tab, and pretty much shotguns it right there. Kale watches him do that.

“Damn. Wow. That’s some New Year’s resolution.”

“Part of it, yeah.” His voice is all rough, and he looks caught off-guard for a second, like he’s not sure what to do next, but he crushes the empty can and drops it on the table before wandering off without another word.

Kale has no fucking clue what that was about.

He finishes off his jagerbomb and thinks about making another but decides to go easy for a second, at least until the new year. Which is in like five minutes.

There’s a TV in the room, and they count down the whole of the last minute along with the thousands freezing their dumb asses off in Times Square. Kale has an arm around Dubes, and Dubes is half-drunkenly trying to tell Kale all about Cal Foote’s eyelashes in between the shouted seconds.

Kale doesn’t have enough breath to tell Dubes that he doesn’t really give a fuck about Cal Foote’s eyelashes. As the seconds tick down though, he untangles himself from Dubes and shoves him toward Footer, and Cal catches him somehow.

This means that there’s no one around for Kale to kiss though, and he feels weirdly alone, the eye in the center of the storm.

Everyone is loud and drunk and moving, and there’s a bottle of prosecco being opened because they couldn’t actually afford champagne, and Dubes and Footer are making out after all like their fucking _lives_ depend on it even though there are still ten seconds left, and Kale closes his eyes and just lets himself _feel_ the energy of the room.

There’s a light touch on his arm, right near his elbow, and he sucks in a breath.

It’s Cale again.

“Hey. Happy New Year, Claguer,” Cale says. He’s standing really close.

Kale thinks he’s gonna kiss him like, on the lips and everything the way people _do_ on New Year’s at midnight, and he even starts to pucker up in anticipation, but Cale only leans in quick and kisses him on the cheek. It’s sweet and way softer than Kale was expecting and also significantly less gay than he was hoping.

Cale smiles at him, flushing nicely, and then he walks away, quickly disappearing into a crowd of their teammates.

Kale watches him go.

What the fuck is it with Cale Makar walking away from him?

 

It’s like one in the morning, he thinks. Kale wishes he were really drunk, like blitzed out of his mind enough that he’s not thinking about Cale or the feel of Cale’s lips on his face or the way he smiles, eyes going all squinty, when Kale calls him Mah-ker. He wishes he weren’t thinking about Cale all the way across the continent at UMass or in the bed next to him during movie night or like, basically anything else about Cale, really.

Kale thinks he might have a Cale Makar problem.

No, Kale definitely knows he has a Cale Makar problem, and he knows what it is.

And he’s thinking like, what the fuck ever, right? It’s 2018. It’s January 1st on a new fucking year and they’re top of their group and the elimination round starts tomorrow, back to hockey, back to the grind. It’s one in the morning right now though on January 1st, and Kale Clague is gonna not take an L on the first day of the new year.

He’s glad that he keeps emergency food in the fridge in his room, and he makes a quick detour there for some supplies before returning to the room to find Cale.

It’s easy enough to locate him. It’s harder to subtly maneuver him into the open doorway, but Kale manages to make it look completely natural, joking a little about team gossip until Cale is standing just where he wants. God, he really is the king of subtlety. He’s fucking ace at this.

During a lull in their conversation, Kale figures like, carpe diem, seize the day right?

He takes a couple breaths to work up the nerve to say, “Mah-ker. Hey, Mah-ker.”

“Yeah, Claguer?”

“Look, mistletoe.”

Kale points at the leafy plant above their heads and barely gives Cale a chance to look at it before putting a hand on his chest, which definitely gets Cale’s attention to snap back to him.

It’s not midnight. It’s not Christmas. It’s ass o’clock in the morning and the room smells like spilled booze and like twenty teenage boys have been going crazy in it all night, and Kale is wearing a black Team Canada shirt with hidden sweat stains probably and Cale is wearing a red one and none of this is picture perfect at all.

It’s pretty nice though, is the thing. It’s definitely really nice to lean in and kiss Cale Makar properly, on the lips the way he didn’t at midnight. The way he’s been thinking about for a while now, whether he knew it or not.

Cale kisses back, eyes closed—Kale peeks—and then he scrunches his nose up a little after they’ve broken apart. He’s doing his fond smile.

“Mistletoe?” he says.

“Yeah,” Kale says. “It’s still close to Christmas, right?”

Cale looks up again, and then he laughs. “I’ve been getting kale all my life as a joke, Claguer. I know what it looks like. That’s not mistletoe.”

And okay, so maybe Kale really did duct tape a few leaves of kale to the door, but it worked, right? It’s not like he could go out and find mistletoe on such short notice; there’s a _blizzard_ outside and it’s after midnight on New Year’s and where the hell does someone even get mistletoe anyway? Kale is a goddamn innovator.

“Come on, just kiss me again, Cale,” he says, and Cale does.

 

 

They’re facing Switzerland in the quarterfinals tomorrow. This is serious; they have a lot to prove, that elusive gold medal to capture after coming oh so close last year and missing by one _shootout goal_. They have so much work left to do before the tourney is over.

But for now—

For now, Kale just burrows deeper under the covers, accidentally kicking Cale in the ankle as he shifts around. He apologizes with a kiss on the back of his neck, right over the gold chain that Cale always wears, the one that almost matches Kale’s own.

For now, he can just focus on this.


End file.
